Current mood:	curious
Entry tags:	a shadow across

[oc] A Shadow Across. Chapter ten.
It's been ages, I know. But I have a good excuse. *nods* I totally do. Not only RL became a pain in the ass, but then the muses weren't even talking to me. That's a good excuse as any.

Now, things are different though. I think there will only be three more chapters, four, tops, because now I'm a couple of scenes from the ending and it's all looking like it might be done before the end of the month. I want it to be done before then, so I can start NaNo wit a clean slate, but who knows. *g*

Title: A Shadow Across
Chapter: Chapter ten
Pairing: Ryan/Seth.
Category: Future fic. First time.
Spoilers: AU to the whole show. *g* I'm evil like that.
Author's note: Written and winner of NaNo2007.
Special thanks: To 60schic for the amazing beta. Thanks babe! And no, this isn't the ending. Who would have thought? *g*

On Saturdays, they usually only work half a day. But the season is about to change and everyone is starting to realize that their trucks (if not all, then at least most of them) don't sound the way they used to, don't run as smoothly as the year before. Bobby has no qualms about working the rest of the day, and truth be told, neither does Ryan, and Bobby gets to charge them rate and a half, so it's all good in the world. And if Ryan tells himself he's not hiding from Seth, not since he came with lunch and they sat together in awkward silence and then Seth left just as quietly as he had come, well, he really isn't.

He closes down shop with Bobby closer to nine at night than he'd like, but he tells himself it's just work, and work plays the bills. And if he drives a little bit too slow, a little too anxiously, it has nothing to do with that either. Not that he should have worried, because when he walks into the house Seth's sitting on the couch, remote in hand.

Ryan closes the door with a loud sound, and Seth turns to look over shoulder at him. Ryan blinks, watches a few emotions he doesn't want to name make their way across Seth's face, and a few that he can't quite put the name on.

"Your plate is on the table," Seth says, voice low, turning his head around, away from Ryan.

Ryan sighs, nods even though Seth can't see him. He makes his way to the kitchen and sure enough, there's a plate wrapped in foil in the middle of the table. All he'd have to do is unwrap it and place it in the microwave, hit a minute or two and be done with it. Only he can't, because he's not hungry. He barely even remembers what hungry feels like.

Instead he sighs, picks it up and places it back in the fridge. He'll eat it tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after. He'll eat it at some point. He's made his bed and now he has to lie in it, he thinks, and he has no idea where that thought has come from because it's a non sequitur if he's ever heard of one.

He makes his way to the doorway leading to the living room. Seth's sitting with his back to him. His back to him. Seth doesn't look up.

he won't look up at you anymore. he hates you. and he has every right to, don't you think? he has every fucking right. you--

Ryan turns away, as if that would make the voice in his head shut up. But it won't, because it's in his head and it's telling the truth.

"I'm going to--" he says, and he thinks he said the same thing this morning, and he thinks he gets the same answer, but he could be mistaken.

"Sure," Seth says, and doesn't turn around.

Ryan can feel something tight inside, like there's something wrong around the edges and now he can't fix it.

you can
shut up

He makes his way up the stairs and to his bedroom, nudges the door closed with his elbow. He doesn't hear the click of the lock; it hasn't closed completely, letting in about two fingers width of the hallway light.

He doesn't turn on the light, just stands there for a second, looks around the place. The covers are the ones Mrs. Landingham got for him last year, days after he had decided he needed new ones and was going to buy them the next time he went into the city. The curtains are the same ones Mrs. Landingham put up years ago; Ryan never got around to changing them. And there's the laptop Seth gave him for Christmas not five months ago, filled with music Seth was sure Ryan was going to like, and he wasn't half wrong.

He lies down on his bed, over the covers, clothes still on, the curtains not quite pulled open, the door not quite pulled closed. He glances out the window, wishes he could see the expanses of green from this place, wishes he could see the first rays of day.

---

Ryan doesn't know what wakes him up, and as he blinks and sits up in the bed, he realizes he doesn't even know when he went to sleep. He still has his clothes on, the curtains are still not quite pulled open, and the door is still ajar. He yawns into his hand, feels his eyes filled with cotton, his mouth as well.

And then he hears it, the sound of footsteps on the hallway floor. Only it's not the distinctive sound he'd grown used to hearing in the middle of the night, he'd taught himself to listen for. It's different, more hollow, more deep. And then he remembers, Mrs. Landingham is dead, and the thought that follows that one, as cold as the one before is, you fucked it up with Seth.

He curses under his breath but stands up, because his joints feel like they hurt only they don't and he half stumbles to the door, his right leg asleep for reasons he doesn't quite understand. He stands there for a second, trying to set his weight on his right leg and feeling nothing but pins and needles, wanting to curse and not knowing why he doesn't. After a couple of minutes, he finally pushes the door open, takes a step outside, and then another, on his way down the hallway, thinking of downstairs even though he isn't thirsty or hungry.

Instead, before he reaches the end of the hallway, the top of the stairs, he pauses by Seth's door. Seth's door, not quite closed, about four fingers width opened. Seth's door, with Seth's back to him, taking his shirt off.

Ryan's breath catches in his throat, watching the way Seth slowly takes off his blue and white shirt (he thinks Seth had a long sleeve shirt under a short sleeve one, but he can't really be sure). He can see the strong lines of his back, all expanses of skin, the width of his shoulders. Seth stands there, before working his belt and then--

Ryan turns around, breath coming in short pants now, chest tight, everything tight. He can feel--

fuck
exactly

He half chokes on that thought before turning around, making his way back to his bedroom, closing the door with a loud click this time around. Whatever it was he wanted to go downstairs for? Has definitely left his brain.

---

The wind hit his face like a slap every other minute, the air permeated with the thick smell of tomatoes and lettuce, with oranges and corn. Ryan closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the edge of another wood crate, his left leg straight before him, his right one bent at the knee, resting against a box of oranges.

He took in a deep breath, and then another, and another. For a second, Ryan thought it smelled like freedom.

---

He's not hiding, he tells himself again the next morning, after he's showered and changed, making his way downstairs. Seth's sitting in the living room again, glued to that computer. Ryan would start to hate that thing if it wasn't stupid to hate an inanimate object.

"Hey," he says, pausing for a moment just before making his way to into the kitchen.

Ryan can see Seth lifting his head slightly, not turning around, the only indication that he's heard Ryan at all. And then Seth's finger pausing for a moment over the keyboard, and it could be yesterday all over again.

"Hey," Seth says back, before lowering his head once again, fingers going furiously at the keyboard. Ryan sighs. So much for that.

Without another word, he makes his way into the kitchen, and pours himself a cup of coffee.

I gotta stop doing this, he thinks, but can't quite narrow down what this is. He drinks his coffee standing by the sink, eats two slices of bread before shoving the rest back into the bag.

He thinks of Seth, warming up lunch, serving him dinner. Wonders if Seth thought about making something for breakfast.

what would it matter? would you have eaten it, or just left it behind and claimed more pressing business?

He doesn't answer. Doesn't quite see the point. Instead, he goes over what he could do

not even nine in the morning and already looking for ways to get away from here, to hide from--

to fill the morning, and remembers that last week he promised Joanie Kinney he'd fix her kitchen sink, that was starting to give her trouble. And knowing her, and he sure as hell did, he'd end up doing about five other things that would take most of the morning. He could be back for lunch, if he wanted.

Does he even want to?

well, do you?

He swallows, shakes his head even though he doesn't know why he's doing it, and rinses the mug. He makes his way to the kitchen doorway, watches Seth's back, the width of the shoulder and remembers

nothing but skin, muscles and lines and Ryan wanting nothing more than--

for a second, before he can think past it and blink, and swallow.

"I need to go out," Ryan says before he backs down from this as well. He clears his throat, and can see Seth pausing, turning to look over his shoulder, enough that Ryan can see his profile. "I told Mrs. Kinney that I would fix her sink."

He can almost hear Seth sigh, before he says, "Yeah, sure. Take care."

Ryan nods, opens his mouth to say something else, not sure what, before nodding once again. He makes his way to the front door, car keys already in his pocket.

He closes the door after himself, a loud sound in the otherwise silent house.

you're a fucking coward

Ryan sighs. Yeah, I am.

---

Before noon, it starts to rain. It doesn't usually, not in late April, but it does now. Big, pregnant droplets of water that hit his shoulder and then his head before showering him like he's under the spray after a long day at the shop. He's outside, in Mrs. Kinney backyard, fixing her gutters after some of the hardest rains in the past five years. He thinks he can manage to get this one done before he freezes to hell and back (he'd only have two more left, and he can do them one of these days, after work, easy) only the rain turns hard before he can blink and then there's Mrs. Kinney at the bottom of the stairs, telling him to get his ass home before he catches his death. Mrs. Landingham used to say the same thing,

you're gonna catch your death,

only he never knew why she'd say that, and he never got around to asking her.

"Ryan!"

"I'm coming!" He says, because he knows Mrs. Kinney, and she has a bad temper, as bad as Mrs. Landingham could get, so he knows when to cut his losses. That, and the rain is coming so hard, so fast, he's half afraid he'll slip on the ladder and break his other arm.

He makes his way down slower than he did his way up before letting Mrs. Kinney pull him back into the house, and shove a thick towel into his hands and another over his shoulders.

"I knew I never shoulda accepted. Kid, what in God's name-- no, no, you're right. You weren't thinking. I should have thrown you off my lawn, that’s what I shoulda done. Fixing my sink, my gutters. Ha! And with that broken arm to boot--"

"Mrs. Kinney, I'm fine," Ryan says, even though he coughs against the palm of his hand and the edge of the cast. At least his fingers are so numb from the cold, there isn't even a tingling sensation like before.

Her eyes narrow, the same look shared by thousands of grandmothers all over the world: I'm old and I know better than you, I'll always know better than you.

He sighs, and lets her push him into the kitchen and then down onto one of the chairs at the small table. He sits there until she's placing a mug of hot tea with honey in between his cold hands, and then feels the way she keeps on drying his hair with a towel.

If his eyes prick hot and itchy, if he thinks he's never missed her as much as he does in this moment, that he never will, he tells himself it's because he's cold, and tired, and hungry.

---

Ryan parks the truck as close to the door as he can, but still he knows it won't be close enough to prevent him from getting soaked. He sighs, looks down at his cast. He hadn't thought about it, not when he was up there on the ladder, that his cast was going to get wet. He thinks there's no damage to it (can there be damage to a cast? He's pretty sure there can) but what the hell does he know. Mostly, he just hates the idea of having to go back to the hospital before his next and final appointment (three weeks, give or take a few days. He thinks it's one of the last days of the month, but he couldn't be sure) just because he needs a new cast.

The rain has let up a little. Mrs. Kinney wouldn't have let him leave if it hadn't, probably saying something along the lines of him not watching the road, the tires giving out on him and finally crashing the truck against a tree. He thinks he isn't that lucky .

He pockets the keys before opening the door and placing a foot on the ground, watching the drops hit his boots mercilessly. He pushes himself out of the truck and slams the door closed as fast as he can, rushing toward the front porch, panting a little as he stands under the covering overhead. He pushes the door open, because he didn't lock it and apparently neither did Seth.

His hair isn't nearly as wet as it was when he walked into Mrs. Kinney's house, but he can feel some droplets falling from the edges, onto his cold shoulders. He shivers for a second, sneezes once again.

"Bless you."

Ryan looks up, and Seth's standing there, at the doorway leading to the kitchen, thick white towel in his hands. Ryan swallows.

"I heard the truck," Seth says as an explanation, with a shrug of his shoulders.

He thinks he wants to say something but can't for the life of him think of what, so he just takes the towel Seth offers, and he dries his hair and his face and hands for the second time in the last half hour.

Ryan can see Seth glancing at him, at his almost wet t-shirt (Mrs. Kinney had offered him a t-shirt from one of her grandsons, left from the last time he came to visit, but he had politely declined), his damp jeans and his flushed face. Ryan can see Seth's eyes darkening for a bit, and an emotion passes over them for a second, and Ryan refuses to identify it, to relate to it.

"I take it the rain caught you outside?"

Ryan nods, walks past Seth and toward the kitchen. The table is set, one placemats at each seat, one in the middle. He thinks about making a joke about the dutiful housewife but thinks better of it. They have a nice truce going on, and he sure as hell doesn't want to risk it.

"I was fixing the gutters," he says, shrugs as he does so.

"That's nice of you," Seth says, his voice low, making his way to the fridge. Seth opens it and Ryan sighs, runs his hand through his hair. It's still wet, he can still feel it damp at the roots. If he doesn't dry it quick, and change clothes, he really will catch pneumonia.

He shrugs. "I do the random job here and there, when someone needs me to."

Ryan thinks people started asking him, years ago, as a way to help him make some pocket money. And then, as the time went by and it seemed more and more that he was here to stay, he thinks maybe they just got used to him doing those things as well. To set up a bookshelf, fix a sink or a toilet, patch up a porch or help install a screen door. Normal things, everyday things. He can't say he doesn't like doing them.

"You hungry?" Seth asks, his back still to him, his hand around the door handle of the fridge. "I could heat up something."

Ryan nods before realizing that Seth can't see him, can't read his mind.

do you wish he could? it would certainly be easier. you wouldn't have to say a word, he would just know. he'd know and you'd be free and--

He clears his throat, dry all of a sudden. "Yeah, sure. Thanks."

---

After lunch, a very silent affair, Ryan might add, he ends up excusing himself, saying he has something to get done (what, he has no idea, and Seth doesn't ask) and hides in his bedroom. He leaves the washing of the dishes to Seth, mostly because it was him who stood up after lunch had been finished and took the plates to the sink, and hurries to the second floor.

He walks in, and closes the door after himself. He sits down heavily on the edge of the bed and sighs.

He takes in a deep breath, and then another, before letting it out slowly through his mouth. He can feel his body shivering every now and then, doesn't matter that he changed clothes and dried himself up as much as he could. He thinks he should take a hot shower but doesn't really want to.

And then he remembers, sitting in Mrs. Kinney's kitchen, her hand on his shoulder, as she ran the towel across his neck, and it had felt so much like Mrs. Landingham that for a moment, for a second--

And he misses her now as well, misses her more than he ever thought possible, even more than he ever missed his own mother. He stands there, in his bedroom, in her house-- in his house now, and he thinks, I can't do this. I can't do this alone. Why did you leave, why did you--?

He looks down at his hands and he misses, god, he misses her so much. His fingers are cold and his chest is cold and everything around him is cold. He's turned his life into this, he's fucked it up so much. He's lost her now and he's lost him too and he never wanted this, never wanted to lose either of them.

"I don't know if I can do this," he says, whispers, and doesn't know if he's referring to the loss, the screw up, or both.

---

He has no idea what he does to kill time (between starting up his computer and surfing through the net looking for nothing in particular, listening to a couple of songs with his headphones before cursing under his breath and closing winamp, and finally lying down on his bed with the idea of taking a nap and spending forty three minutes glancing at his closet and then up at his ceiling) and after what feels like an eternity he realizes that it's a little after six and Seth could very well be downstairs wondering if Ryan's hungry and if he should wait for him or not.

"Shit," he says or thinks under his breath, he's not sure. But what he is certain of is that he can't keep doing this, hiding in his room. He just can't .

So he makes his way down the stairs and Seth's sitting in the living room, looking down at his laptop, charger cord connecting it to the closest socket. He's just looking at the screen, not typing this time around. And still, either Seth has a lot of papers to get done, or a lot of words inside him wanting to be let out, or he's been trying to kill time as much as Ryan himself.

"Are you hungry?" Ryan asks it this time, reaches out, as pathetic an attempt as it is.

Seth sighs, and Ryan thinks he might feel as tired and exhausted about this as him. Because they used to be able to talk with only a few words spoken. Because there were times when Seth would call and they would exchange hellos and then fall silent and everything would be good, everything would be great, because they didn't need anything else. Silence was fine, silence was one way they could speak. Only now that is long gone and it's all his fucking fault.

"I could eat."

And it's not the quiet understanding they used to have, not even close, but it's something. It's an olive branch, and right at this moment, Ryan would take anything.

"Good."

---

This time it's Ryan who goes to the fridge and rummages inside, finds the first plate that calls out to his appetite and asks Seth if he's in the mood for beef stew and Seth says that yeah, sure, he tends to like beef stew. So beef stew it is.

He warms up two servings and places the plates on the table after Seth has set the mats out. He sits down and they eat in silence. Ryan thinks about asking him about school, about what papers have deadlines looming, about Jennifer and Clara and Lara, about anything and nothing at all. He thinks about asking him, but then thinks better of it, because they've found peace for a moment, a minute, and he doesn't want to ruin it. And lately, well, lately, all he can seem to do is screw things up.

So they finish dinner in almost complete silence, only broken when Ryan's picking up the plates and taking them to sink and Seth asks, "Mrs. Kinney. Her son is an engineer, right? USC?"

Ryan pauses for a moment, because he thinks is the longest one of them has reached out since Friday night. Or maybe the longest was Seth going to the shop with lunch, but they'd both been too close to the night before, and he might not have noticed, not really. And then he thinks, he can do this, because this is Seth and Seth is the only one who has managed to claw more than one short sentence out of him. Because he might have been living here for four and a half years, but Seth sure as hell knows more about him.

"Yeah." He says after a moment, pauses as he opens the tap. He doesn't ask himself why or how Seth know about Mrs. Kinney and her son, Thomas. He doesn't, because he still remembers the way Seth had stood by him in the church, had said hello to almost everyone with both hands around theirs. "He got a scholarship there, for basketball. Her husband left when Thomas was only seven. People around here don't talk about the guy."

Seth leans against the edge of the counter, by the sink, hip cocked. "The husband, right? Crap. I didn't know that."

He wouldn't. Seth might have friended half the town with ten words, a bright smile and a few handshakes, but there are things they keep close to the vest. He should know. Ryan shrugs. "I heard it from Eve, a couple of years ago, when Thomas came during the holidays to visit his mother. He brought his son with him, Spencer." Ryan thinks the only reason Eve told him was because people had started talking about Thomas, saying how history tends to repeat itself. He hadn't gotten it, hadn't really minded not getting it, but Eve had taken pity on him, or so she would have thought.

He uses the sponge, thick with bubbles from the liquid soap. "His wife left him when the kid was only two, the year before Thomas came home. That's why Eve told me, because everyone kept saying how history was repeating itself and Eve found it in poor taste."

Seth sighs, shakes his head. "Yeah, well, so do I."

Ryan nods. He did as well. As did Mrs. Landingham.

After a second, after Ryan has gone over both plates and starts on the cutlery, and on the Pyrex that held the two servings of stew, Seth asks, "what did you fix for Mrs. Kinney, besides the gutters?"

"Not much," he says, "not really. Just the kitchen sink, and put up a new mirror she wanted in the foyer, and then the gutters. I could have done a few more things, but it started raining, and I was already soaking wet, so she wanted me to come home to change."

He feels like an ass after finishing because, yeah, he could have done a lot more. Probably wouldn't have made it back for lunch, no matter what he told himself that morning. He could have been there all day. She would have insisted on giving him lunch, besides the fifty he always gets for the job.

"Oh," Seth says, and it's like Seth can see it too, can see the idea of Ryan hiding out in Mrs. Kinney’s house, and he would have, yeah, but not for the reasons he's sure Seth's thinks. Ryan would open his mouth to explain, if he had the guts to do so.

Ryan closes his eyes briefly and then opens them, finishes rinsing the plates. Seth has a towel in his hands, planning on drying, and Ryan doesn't know what to do except hand him the plates, one by one, watch him go over them with the cloth before placing them on the draining board.

He hands Seth the cutlery next, and watches as Seth does the same for it, goes over them with the towel, piece by piece, before placing them on the draining board.

And then they are just standing there, hips leaning against the counter, facing each other. And Ryan knows he can't do this. He can't keep pretending he's mad at Seth for something he didn't do wrong. And he sure as hell can't let Seth leave the house for the airport, fly away from him, fearing he might never come back. Not like that, not thinking Ryan didn't care for him, thought the worse of him. There wouldn't be anything left of him.

So he does the one thing he can think of, the only thing he thinks he can do.

Ryan learns forward and he can feel Seth's surprise in the way his lips part before they touch, the way he gasps just as Ryan's lips draw closer, catching Seth's breath with his own. He takes another step, half a step, hands going to either side of Seth's face. Seth gasps once again, and freezes, and then Ryan can't stop himself, can't stop his thumb from stroking Seth's lower lip.

He doesn't know if it's him, or Seth, but he's pretty sure it's him, who leans forward first. Their lips meet and it's nothing like the first kiss they had, which was tentative and gentle. No, this is one of a kind. It's hard and intense and a little sloppy. Ryan can feel his own hands closing into fists from the desire, the very need, to reach out and touch Seth's sides, Seth's hips, Seth's waist.

Instead, he holds onto that desire and kisses Seth without grace but with force, with uncoiled need. Seth kisses him back just as hard, just as needy.

When Ryan breaks away from the kiss, he bites back a groan. His hands finally unfold, but instead of reaching for Seth's waist to pull him closer, they reach for Seth's shoulders to push him back.

He blinks and sees Seth, really sees him, looking winded and messy and half debauched, and for one glorious second Ryan can think, I did that, I put that look there, and then he bites on his lower lip so hard, he thinks he draws blood.

"Seth--"

He says, half whispers, and Seth must know him way better than Ryan ever thought possible, because Seth's eyes narrow in that second, after that one word. The small smile on his lips starts to fade, and Ryan can almost feel Seth's anger. "Don't. Whatever it is--"

Ryan's jaw tightens, because. God, he just can't stop himself, can't he? He just can't stop sticking his hand in the cookie jar, and by god that's one horrible analogy. "Seth, I can't--"

"No," Seth says, angry and frustrated, and Ryan can understand, he can totally relate, but that doesn't mean-- "Don't you fucking dare say that what we just did was a mistake, you hear me. You can't fucking--"

"I shouldn't have--"

Ryan thinks he's going to say more, but then he's turning around, ready to run, ready to hide in his bedroom for another two days, until Seth goes back to Providence, even though that was the original reason why he thought kissing him might be a good idea? God, he's fucked up.

Only he can't because Seth's not stupid and Seth's onto him. Seth's fingers wrap around his wrists and then he's being pulled back, turned around, until he's facing Seth. Seth, with the wide brown eyes and thin lips. Seth, with the dark curls that frame his face. Seth, with words that he hilts like a sword in hand. Seth, who came all the way here after only a few words from him, who came here to take care of him, who came here for him.

"You can't kiss me like that and then expect me to--"

And Ryan sighs in between one of Seth's words and the other, because he's right. He can't pretend, he can't, not anymore. He barely could with Seth on the other side of the country, it's no surprise he can't with Seth on his side of the kitchen.

Ryan bites on his lower lip once, just once, before leaning forward once again. Ryan closes his eyes and his hands find their way to Seth's waist, to Seth's hip, and pulls him close, closer, fingers still damp from soap and water. Seth makes a throaty sound against his lips before kissing him back and Ryan squeezes his eyes shut, his finger digging deeper. Seth moans, and Ryan's a goner.

They keep on kissing, on lower lips and upper lips, on corners of mouths and down to chins and along the long lines of jaws. Down necks and over Adam's apple, past edges of shirts and through collarbones. Seth moans again, deep and throaty and so fucking perfect, and Ryan can feel it, the way the sound makes its way down into him, becomes a part of him. He's lost, hard and fast, he's long gone. Seth's hands on Ryan's waist, finger digging, fighting for purchase and Ryan whimpers in the back of his throat. Seth growls at the sound. And then Ryan's being pulled from the edge of the sink and being pushed back, his lower back against the damp edge, Seth's body covering his, holding him in. Holding him.

"Yes," he thinks he whispers, moans, whimpers, but he couldn't be sure, because then Seth's kissing him and they are moaning, one against the other. Moaning, like they don't know what else to do, what else to say, except each other's names in between half taken breaths.

Ryan's hands move upwards, from Seth's hips under his shirt and then Seth's moving against him, pressing against him. And Ryan can feel, hell, Ryan can feel him alright. Hard and long against his own thigh and he moans because god, he's been waiting for this, he's been wanting this for so long, he'd forgotten how it felt not to want this.

Seth bites Ryan's lower lip and Ryan moans and he thinks of nothing but this, this, this.

One of his hands find its way to Seth's hair, the other holds onto Seth's hip, and before he knows it he's pushing Seth back, Seth gasping. Seth's gasps, and Ryan takes one second to look at the swollen lips and half fluttered eyes before Ryan's hands move back to Seth's waist and he's pushing Seth against the kitchen island, and Seth laughs, throaty and perfect and right and here.

He has no idea why, or how, but he places a leg in between both of Seth's and Seth moans, long and deep and so fucking perfect, that Ryan thinks he moans right back with him. And then he thinks Seth's rubbing himself against Ryan's leg and Ryan has to laugh, because, really, they are twenty two years old, he thinks they can manage something a little bit more decent than leg humping.

He pulls back, enough for his hands to move to either side of Seth's face, up to Seth's hair, and Ryan kisses, hard and fast and Seth's mouth is wide open and Ryan thinks he's never liked kissing so much as he likes kissing Seth.

He pulls back again, Seth's hand reaching for his own and holding onto it. And Ryan understands, because that's twice now that he's pulled back from a kiss and shaken his head, said no, and only one of those times he didn't initiate it. And instead of letting go of Seth's hand, he takes a step back and pulls Seth to him. Seth, with that surprised face, eyes wide, like he can't believe Ryan didn't push him back, instead of pulling. Ryan doesn't think he can quite believe it either. Only he's already tried to push Seth away and that didn't exactly go as planned.

Ryan thinks he might have been about to pull Seth to the staircase, but he'll never know for sure, because then it's Seth who's pulling out of the kitchen and toward the staircase. They pause at the first landing, Seth pushing Ryan against the wall, kissing him for all that he's worth. Ryan kisses him back, eyes closed, hands tight around Seth's shirt. And then they are making their way up the last steps, kissing and trying to take a step up at the same time without getting themselves killed in the process.

It's Seth who pushes Ryan's door open with one hand, while the other holds on tightly at Ryan's waist, and before he knows it, he's being pushed through and then Ryan's pushing Seth against the back of his own door. There goes the leg again, Ryan's leg in between Seth's, and the groan is louder this time, and Ryan thinks that if he gets any harder, he'll come in his jeans.

"Bed," Seth groans, manages to whisper, and Ryan nods because, yeah, bed, that's one hell of an idea.

Seth pushes him back, and that's all they've been doing, pushing, and Ryan thinks that's a good idea as well, because if they so much as pause and think, Ryan will--

And then the back of Ryan's knees hit the edge of the bed and Seth pushes one more time, one last time, and Ryan falls back, eyes wide open, Seth grinning from ear to ear above him. Seth takes off his shirt in one fluid movement, need in every motion, and Ryan sits up in bed long enough to do the same, tossing it carelessly to the floor.

Ryan's sitting sideways on the bed, and he scoots back as Seth stands there, in between Ryan's knees, in jeans. Ryan watches the long expanses of skin, the lines of his collarbone, the flat stomach and down to where the coarse hair starts and hides under the top of his jeans. Ryan leans forward, reaches for Seth's belt and starts to undo it. Seth's standing still, holding himself tight, as if afraid to move, afraid to spook Ryan. Maybe he's right, maybe one wrong movement and he'll freak out once again and not do this but then--

then--

he looks up and Seth's looking down at him and he's not smiling, Seth doesn't need to, because his eyes say everything they could ever say with words, and then Ryan gets the belt loose, open, and starts working on the button only to be followed by the zipper.

Seth groans. Ryan doesn't, only lets his head fall back and his eyes close as Seth does the same for him, lifts his hips long enough for Seth to push down his jeans before toeing off his boots himself. He shifts on the bed, on his bed, until he's lying down with his head over the pillow, naked, and then Seth's covering Ryan's body with his own, naked as well. Seth blinks down at Ryan, and then leans forward for a kiss. Ryan hadn't though their kisses could leave him any more breathless, but they can, and they are. Seth breaks the kiss with a slight pull of Ryan's lower lip, mouth drifting down to Ryan's neck, over his Adam's apple and the hollow of his throat, kissing and licking and sucking a little over exposed skin, and Ryan didn't know pleasure could feel like this, and moans would die in his throat and all he could hear would be the sound of Seth's mouth over his skin reverberating in his ears, like the ocean.

Ryan lifts his head and Seth's looking up at him, grinning big and wide and Ryan thinks, yes, this, yes. He reaches for Seth's hair, and Seth lets himself be pulled back until he's draped over Ryan's body. Ryan hooks one leg over the back of both of Seth's and then there's nothing but perfect friction, like this, right, beautiful.

Seth groans, and Ryan lifts his face enough to capture Seth's lips in his own, and Seth's moaning and Ryan isn't even as he squeezes his eyes shut and he can almost see white on the edges of his vision. One of Seth's hands tightens around his hip, painfully, and Ryan knows it will bruise in the morning, and Ryan bends his other leg at the knee and it all falls down around him, perfectly, and for a second, for one horrible second he thinks--

I can't, I can't. I can't. not without telling him. I can't. I have to tell him. I have to, I have to. he'll hate me and I have to tell him. he'll hate me and he has to know, he deserves to know--

and then one of Seth's hand finds one of his and pulls it up over Ryan's head, presses it against the bed, against the sheets and the covers that have bunched up to the sides, their fingers intertwined. The other tightens even more on Ryan's hip, and Ryan's free hand makes its way into Seth's hair and his eyes are still tight shut, shut, and then Seth moves just right and the white around the edges is brilliant and incandescent and words die on his throat, breath caught, and then he's gasping out a breath even as his muscles tighten with the strain, his toes curling. Seth moves over him, his hand around Ryan's tightens, the fingers on his hip match the hold, and then Seth's grunting, low and deep, and he's coming undone between Ryan's legs.

Seth doesn't let go of Ryan's hand, but his hold on Ryan's hip does lessen, and Ryan can hear his own heart pumping loudly in his ears. His eyes are still closed, but he can feel his body nothing but liquid mercury, relaxed and sated, and his hand spasms over Seth's every now and then, tightening for a breath and then loosening again. Seth's weight over Ryan is welcomed, is nice, and for a second he can't breath when Seth shifts, but then he shifts again and he isn't crushing Ryan's lungs one against the other, and he can take a deep breath and open his eyes. Ryan looks down at Seth looking up at him, at Seth smiling at him, and he thinks he can feel his lips pulling up, a soft smile he can't stop.

---

Ryan didn't fall asleep (he thought he never could, not after everything, not in a car with a strange guy. Not in a car with a guy, ever again) but the sun was high in the sky and hot on his face, and the lull of the truck was soothing and his muscles seemed to relax, one with each passing mile. When the truck finally parked, though, Ryan was wide awake, backpack with his few earthly possessions held over his chest.

Ryan looked around, at the town the guy had said he was coming to -- Willow, something, he thought. Willow. Ryan took in the grocery store they seemed to be parked before, the small dinner across the street, the park around the corner. It was beautiful, Ryan could admit that much. It was amazing. It was the type of place you could find on a postcard of southern America. It was surreal.

He heard the drivers' door opening and then closing, a hand slapping against the side of the trunk bed.

Ryan stood up on the tarp, turned around toward the driver.

The guy smiled at him with a gapped tooth grin, but the smile felt sincere. Ryan grimaced against the sun hitting him face first, placed his hand over his eyes. He tilted his head to the side.

The guy grinned wider.

"Didn't got around to telling you my name, did I? Joseph, they call me."

---

He doesn't know how long they lie there; a minute, two. His left hand is still enclosed in Seth's right, and he wonders if the edge of the cast is making Seth's wrist hurt. His right hand, though, it's closed into a fist.

I shouldn't have
it wasn't like you didn't want to? go on. tell me you didn't want to, because there's a bridge I'd like to sell you

He closes his eyes, can feel his stomach cold, sticky, and before he can figure out how to get out from under Seth, Seth's right hand squeezes his once before letting go.

"I gotta," Seth says, and Ryan nods, because he doesn't know what else to do. Seth stands up slowly, carefully, and as he stands by the side of Ryan's bed, he leans forward to kiss him.

I shouldn't have
then why did you?

Yeah, why? He swallows after the kiss, watches Seth pick up his own shirt and clean the mess on his stomach with it, before making his way back to the bed to clean Ryan's stomach. He swallows. Why did he then, when he knew, when he fucking knew that the worst thing he could do was this? He has so much baggage, so much he hasn't told Seth, wishes he didn't have to. Then why, why, of all the crazy, thoughtless things he's ever done, why--

because I couldn't stop myself

would he ever do this?

Seth turns around to place the sticky and almost ruined shirt in the laundry basket -- he hasn't done laundry yet, damn it; he usually does it on Saturday -- and Ryan takes that moment to reach for the sheets that had almost fallen over the edges of the bed. He has no idea why he would choose to turn into a prude in this second, but covering his groin with it seems like the right thing to do.

When Seth turns back around and looks at him, if he's surprised at the sudden shyness, he doesn't say anything about it. He does make his way back to the bed, sitting on the edge of the double bed, naked, right hip touching the outside of Ryan's right thigh. He never would have pegged Seth for being unselfconscious about his body.

Seth reaches out for Ryan's hand, the one holding tightly to the sheet just over his navel. He takes it between soft fingers, touches the back of the palm with the pads of his own. Ryan takes hold of the sheet with his other hand.

"You okay?"

Ryan has no idea how to answer that. How the fuck is he supposed to answer that? He can feel the harsh words coming up his throat, quicker and quicker, and he remembers a few years ago -- five, six? -- when every thought would be filled with curses, in between fucks and shits and son of a bitches. He had to force himself to stop, because he knew that wasn't him, not really. That was the situation and the desire to be someone he wasn't, to hide behind the horrible words. That, and because he could never really curse in front of Mrs. Landingham, or Bobby, nothing worse than an oh, hell.

Ryan pulls back his hand from Seth's hold before he realizes what he's doing, but Seth really is onto him, holding on tight, not letting him go. Ryan sighs, his hand curling into a fist, Seth's thumb caught inside.

He's already done it, gone and screwed it up -- screwed Seth -- and he thinks he's too far gone to take it back. How the fuck does anyone take THAT back, anyway?

He sighs once again, pulls his lower lip in between his teeth. He closes his eyes, briefly, takes in a deep breath in through his nose.

"I care about you."

Ryan opens his eyes, wide in surprise. He glances at Seth. Seth, sitting on the edge of his bed, naked, hand held between Ryan's closed fingers. Seth has his head down, his hand turning around in Ryan's hold, holding back tight, tighter, as if afraid Ryan will bolt. Seth might not be so wrong after all.

"I think I have, from the very beginning, I just don't think I really noticed."

Ryan blinks. He watches the way Seth swallows, the movement of his Adam's apple. He thinks he remembers watching Seth that time, all those months ago. He thinks he remembers watching him closely and wanting to reach out but not daring to. He thinks, but he can't be sure. He swallows.

For a moment Ryan thinks Seth should be more self-conscious about being naked in front of him, and then he's reminded of what they just did, how his hand tightened around Seth's fingers as they both came, and thinks self-consciousness would be pointless.

He swallows, lowers his head. Seth's thumb graces the back of Ryan's knuckles, and Ryan can't help but look away. "I know--"

"I shouldn't have," Ryan says, whispers. He thinks he'll regret the words the moment they leave his tongue, but he doesn't. He can't. He made his bed, now he has lie in it.

"What?"

Ryan doesn't look up, but he can recognize that Seth doesn't sound surprise. It's a legitimate question, what, and Seth's asking it. Seth's not surprised; he was waiting for this from Ryan.

He wants nothing more than to push away from Seth, to stand up and make his way to the other side of the bedroom, sheet wrap around his body. But when he thinks about how that might look, like a woman scorned, he snorts to himself and stays in his place. All he does is pull his hand away from Seth and not meet his eyes.

Seth doesn't reach out for him. Good. Ryan can't believe he did this. He can't believe he did this and never got around to talking to Seth first.

He thinks of everything that happened, of every little thing, of how it felt, and thinks he might throw up for the first time since that first night. He pulls his lower lip in between his teeth, closes his eyes.

"There are some things I never told you." His voice is rough, and deep, and his jaw is clenching even though he keeps telling himself to take a deep breath and let it out.

"I know."

Ryan squeezes his eyes shut. He thinks he hates that of Seth, of pushing and pushing until there's very little room left for Ryan to give. Ryan he hates that of him, but he knows that if Seth hadn't, if he had never pushed, they wouldn't have gotten here. Not even close.

He snorts, feels his teeth clenching. "You don't."

"Yeah, well. I don't care."

Ryan looks up at Seth, a glare in his eyes, a grimace on his lips. "You'll care."

Seth doesn't flinch, doesn't lower his gaze. He meets Ryan's eyes and holds it. "No, I won't."

Ryan can feel frustration in the way his neck starts to burn, in the itching of his eyes, in the clenching of his fingers. "You don't even know what you're talking about."

"What part of I don't care--?"

"That's easy to say when you don't know what it is!" Ryan sighs, runs his fingers though his hair, tilts his head back. You stupid son of a b-- "There's too much you don't know about me," he says, whispers. Pleads.

Seth's fingers are on his chin, lifting it, making Ryan meet Seth's eyes. Seth's smiling and Ryan still feels like cursing his ancestry. "I know that." Ryan opens his mouth to say something, but Seth beats him to it. "There are many things I don't know, but there's one thing I do, and that's that I care for you. I... care a lot, okay?" Seth pauses, watches Ryan. Ryan wishes he could look away. "I love you."

Ryan grimaces, closes his eyes. He tries to look away but Seth holds steady, firm. Seth holds him.

"I touch you and I can't breathe."

Seth's words are like a slap, like a punch. They physically hurt Ryan. And for a moment he thinks this is what love is all about, letting the other person hurt you until you can't take it anymore. It's knowing this person can hurt you again and again, and still keep going back for more.

"I'm so in love with you, Ryan, that I'm stupid with it, self-conscious, afraid that someone will look at me and see."

"You don't know me," Ryan says, repeats. He thinks it's the truth but he could be wrong, he's been wrong before. He thinks Seth doesn't know him, but if Seth doesn't, then no one else does, no one else ever could.

"I hear your voice and I start to tremble," Seth says with a shrug, like it's a normal thing to say to another person. Like Seth shouldn't be freaking out, or maybe Ryan is freaking out enough for both of them.

Ryan grimaces, wants to shake his head. But he can't, because he gets that. He remembers that, sitting in his very bedroom -- Ryan glances to his right, to the small space in between his nightstand and the wall -- phone in hand and hear Seth talk a million words away and answer with nothing but silence, for that silence to fit. Maybe it was one of those words that did this, made Ryan answer to Seth's words like this, made him fall for him. How did he ever?

He swallows. "I need to tell you."

"No, you don't."

"Seth--" Ryan looks away from the corner he took as his, turns to look at Seth. Seth, sitting there, with a smile on his face. He can feel his throat tight, his hands sweaty. "I need to--"

"When I choose an action whose consequences I can't foresee," Seth says, slowly, like he likes the sound of each word on his tongue, "I am also choosing the consequences."

Ryan would probably hit Seth right about now, if he had the strength. "What the hell does that even mean?"

Seth smiles, wide and happy, huge, because he knows he's pretty much won this argument. Ryan should feel more upset, more worried, but he doesn't. He can't. Not with Seth smiling like that, and when had the world begun to light up when he smiled like that?

"It means," Seth says, leaning forward, grin so big on his face, Ryan wonders why it's not cracking on the sides. His lips pause not even a breath away from Ryan's. And Ryan gets what Seth said a moment ago, he does, because Seth's not really touching him, and Ryan can't breathe. "I choose you."

Ryan sighs just as Seth kisses him, eyes closed, and he can't help but think that he has to give up on the idea of hiding behind words, either said or unsaid, because if anyone can find him there, it's Seth, whose whole world has always been about words.

Seth kisses him, with both hands on either side of Ryan's face, with love and passion and words that they don't say. Seth kisses him, and Ryan kisses him back in silence.

---

I fixed it. A little bit. Not all of it, but a little bit. Enough to leave me room to play with it. *g*

That said, I still hope people are reading this, and hopefully it won't be so long before the next chapter. Say, a couple of weeks? Thanks!